Mordicant's Bite
by Shiner Shining Bright
Summary: Sabriel gets a nasty bite from a Mordicant. Takes place right before the reservoir scene in Lirael.


**This is for a challenge fic I'm entering with my friend, Thunder. I didn't have Lirael on hand with me when writing this. So any mistakes, please notify me. Oh, and I spell things kind of British, so don't be surprised if you find or do not find 'u's here and there.**

Sabriel groaned inwardly. She had heard that the trouble she had left Belisaere to face was a flock of Dead Hands terrorizing the villagers of Sindle, but there were many more here than she had anticipated. Adding to the Abhorsen's uncertainty, she could spot a Mordicant or two among the ranks of the dead. Sabriel had overcome her fear of Mordicants around ten years before, but they were still hard to kill...again.

She remembered the cry for help that she had heard upon nearing the village, and it renewed the energy within her to fight.

_"Abhorsen, help!" a tall man called. Sabriel took a look at the poor, desolate villagers and how skinny and few they had become since being taken over only a day ago. Their earth-colored clothes were silhouetted against the gray of the sky and hill, sun peeking over the horizon. It was so early, yet these villagers could be so awake. How terrifying._

Sabriel's thoughts were interrupted by the fighting starting. However, soon enough, she had one Mordicant left to fight, and all the others were back where they belonged, dead. This last Mordicant was weak, but still formidable, so she fought with all her might and managed to weaken it largely. The moment she was to banish it beyond the Ninth Gate, it reached out and bit her leg.

Stifling a scream, she bit her lip and watched helplessly. It seemed to happen in slow motion. She saw the Mordicant sink its teeth into her lower leg and hold them there for three full seconds. Just when she thought the pain would kill her, the Mordicant removed its pointy incisors. It then succumbed to being banished beyond the Ninth Gate, and the Abhorsen was able to get a good look at her wound. Crimson blood welled up from eight small holes in her mail, which was too weak to protect her from the Mordicant's wrath. Already, not even a minute after the bite, Sabriel could see the wound begin to rot.

"Abhorsen, are you okay?" a small voice asked curiously. It belonged to a small female, a girl of no older than eight. The voice was too curious to be any older.

Sabriel nodded weakly and started to limp away. Belisaere was not far. She could get there soon.

As soon as the Abhorsen was out of earshot, the same child's voice asked again, "Are you sure she's alright?"

"Quiet, Allira. I'm sure the Abhorsen will be fine," her father's voice replied.

"But she got bit!" Allira protested.

"Do not forget that she is also the Queen. She will become well," her father reassured her.

Allira nodded glumly, the worry not escaping from her eyes as she stared off at the limping woman that was disappearing into the morning horizon.

Sabriel groaned with each step. This rotting wound was excruciatingly painful. Puss started to ooze out of the small holes. It was rotting, and it was rotting fast.

How long until I reach Belisaere?

Sabriel kept asking herself, every moment seeming more like a week. All sense of direction began to leave her, and she began to stumble forward blindly, barely able to keep her eyes open for the ever-increasing pain. It took a short while for Sabriel to pass out, a sharp, pained cry escaping her lips. However, she felt like she wasn't just passing out, but like this was something final, like she would not be returning.

"What was that?" Touchstone blurted out. He and his guards had taken horses to go visit some important politician about a month ago. Returning to Belisaere was like a breath of fresh air. He would be resuming his Kingly duties, but at least he was home. From here to Belisaere was only a day's travel away, but he didn't mind slowing down slightly.

One guard sighed quietly. "I'm not sure, but it sounded like it came from close by."

"That voice..." Touchstone murmured, almost to himself. He recognized that voice, but it was one he hadn't heard in a while. He instantly urged his horse, a young stallion he had dubbed Arlem, on in the direction of the voice. Within a couple of seconds, he heard the satisfactory clomping of the guards' horses' hooves that followed those of Arlem.

It took King Touchstone thirty seconds to see what had made the noise. The shock of what he found made it seem almost unreal. The ivory skin, the raven hair, the blue surcoat, and the closed brown eyes that he knew so well. Queen Sabriel.

"Sabriel!" Touchstone yelped, his voice choked by worry. He leapt off the stallion smoothly and quickly, and ran the two yards necessary to reach the unconscious woman. He knelt down on one knee, his left knee burrowing deeply into the early-spring ground. He reached out one arm to hold her back steady while he lifted her bent knees with the other.

She was so cold. But this was not the cold of his wife going into Death. This was different. To the King's relief, she still had a pulse, but it was faint. It was irregular. It was getting slower.

Touchstone began to look for the cause of this dying heartbeat. There were no wounds on the upper body...at last the King found the holes in her mail. By now, only the noon of getting this wound, it had rotted almost completely.

"No..." Touchstone murmured inaudibly. He was only an amateur at healing spells and only knew a few. None could help with this kind of wound, though. It had rotted too much. Touchstone knew Sabriel knew spells that would heal herself, but she'd need a source to supply this power for the spell, as she was not strong enough for one such as the one she would need. But this power supply would have to be powerful.

Then it hit him. The reservoir under the palace held the Five Great Charter Stones, and they would be powerful enough to aid the Abhorsen in healing herself.

"Hold on," Touchstone murmured encouragingly to Sabriel. "One more day and you'll be fine."

He turned around and faced the servants.

"Prepare to head back to Belisaere at a much faster pace," he warned them, still holding Sabriel, then hoisted her up onto Arlem and jumped on after he was sure she was securely mounted upon the horse. He spurred the young stallion instantly and it started to move at a run. His worry was either that Sabriel would be badly affected by this speed, as he had not cared much to learn about the effect of fast horses on unconscious people while still very young. Another worry was simply that he would hit a tree. The forest he was riding through was not dense, but there was always a chance of an unseen oak that could gravely injure the horses, not to mention their passengers.

Arlem ran on and on, his stamina unusually high for a palace horse, and he did not falter until late that night. Touchstone and the others had reached the forest's end late that afternoon, but the horses continued to run like they had just been let free on an open plain. Only when dusk turned to night, the horses grew tired, but did not stop until they had run completely out of energy, at which point they simply stopped moving and planted their hooves firmly into the ground. The riders were forced to dismount and camp out in open land, because their horses would go no farther. It amazed Touchstone how Arlem could have such free will, yet still be a dumb horse. He was interrupted by the horse attempting to shrug off his other passenger and be free, at which point the King had to rub the horse's nose and make it stop moving so he could ease Sabriel off the horse.

Once again, he had to rest one arm behind her back and another under her knees before he could lower the Queen to the ground. Behind him, one guard had begun to settle down, laying his sweaty head upon the lush grass, the other keeping watch. Too tired to do much else, Touchstone set the woman down on the softest patch of grass he could find, and then proceeded to find a patch of grass for himself. The exhaustion and the time of night outweighed the need for a blanket, so without further ado, Touchstone his head on the ground and stretched out on his side. Closing his eyes was all he needed to enter a deep sleep.

Touchstone's dreams were plagued with the most sorrowful nightmares Touchstone could imagine.

"I'm sorry," Dri, the best healer in Belisaere apologized. "She's dead."

Touchstone sorrowfully looked past the woman at the still form behind her. Sabriel was paler than she had ever been in Life. Sightless eyes stared off into an unseen vision, and judging by the expression on the late Queen's face, it was peaceful. Her lips bent upward in an expression of serenity. She was frighteningly still, but then again, she was dead. Her hands were clasped together loosely over her still heart. She wore a long white dress; one that Touchstone remembered was for burying those of high honour. Her long hair had been woven back into a loose braid.

"No!" Touchstone whimpered. He had failed her. He had been too late, and now she was forever lost to him.

The King was awoken by dawn's light. Feeling the warm of the peeking sun comforted him, but the previous night's dream plagued him. Uncertainly, he crept over to the place he had laid Sabriel to rest for the night. She was still in the same spot, but to his delight, she was not in the same position. Hesitantly, Touchstone placed a gentle hand on her heart, to be sure she was still alive, and not as she was in the dream, cold and still.

Her pulse was still there, although barely, and it had gotten slightly slower than it had been the day before. Quickly, he woke the cranky guards who grudgingly opened their eyes and prepared the horses for the journey to Belisaere. The King put his wife back on Arlem, checked her pulse again, and made sure she was securely placed on the horse before leaping on after her. On his signal, Arlem and the other two horses rode off in the direction of the rising sun.

Belisaere was in sight by midmorning. The tallest tower in the castle, the one Sam used as a workshop, loomed over the rest of the capital city. Seeing it was like taking a breath of fresh air. The essence of home was so strong here that even Sabriel stirred slightly. Encouraged, Touchstone kissed the back of her head and whispered, "Almost there."

Through the rest of the morning, the capital city got closer and closer and took up more and more of the horizon. Arlem's hooves never stopped moving, and as home drew closer, Sabriel had awoken, looked around, and then gone back into a state of unconsciousness. The ground zoomed by beneath them, flat and green.

Once they had reached the capital, Touchstone leaped off the horse, shoved Sabriel off, and ran, Sabriel in his arms, through the streets in the direction of the reservoir. Heads turned at the sight of their King in such a rush, and he was too quick for any to recognize who was in his arms.

Not far ahead...Keep running...

Touchstone thought, aware that Sabriel had not much time to live. She had to be healed, and soon.

The King quickly descended the steps down to the reservoir, barely noticing when cold became cold and wet. He felt the water pressing up against him, but it didn't matter. Not now. Suddenly, Sabriel woke up completely.

The first thing Sabriel noticed the moment she awoke was the immense power in this place, an amount that could equal only the power of the five Great Charter stones in Belisaere. But what was she doing in the reservoir? How did she get there?

The warmth of another, the comforting warmth that counteracted the cold in this place, was what gave her her answer. She looked upwards to see the face of Touchstone, but he didn't notice she had woken and had his eyes fixed firmly on the space ahead of them. To make her consciousness known, she pressed her cheek against his chest. He responded by pressing her tighter against him. Sabriel contentedly closed her eyes and savored the moment.

Touchstone set her down on the floor next to one stone, but she barely noticed the cold water soaking her blue surcoat as she examined the wound. She definitely knew the spells to heal it, but she was lucky to be in the reservoir at that time. She needed the power.

Only once she was settled with her back leaning against one stone did Touchstone dare to break the silence.

"How did you get that?"

"I received a nasty bite from a Mordicant," the Abhorsen replied.

"Definitely nasty," Touchstone commented lightly.

"After that?" Sabriel wondered.

"You were unconscious for a day. Arlem had to get you back. He didn't mind it," Touchstone relayed. "You only woke a minute ago."

"Oh. So..."

"I'm so glad you're alive!" Touchstone breathed.

Sabriel nodded. "Me, too." She reached towards him and embraced him, pressing Touchstone against her, leaning her head on his left ear, feeling him bury his face in her mass of midnight locks. She wanted to speak, but no words came out, so she remained silent and closed her eyes, intensifying the warm feeling inside. He held her for a moment until she let him go, only to be pulled into a kiss. It was passionate on his part, expressing the great joy that she had not been killed. On her part, it was grateful for saving her. Only their lips touched for another moment, but then Touchstone tried to nudge her mouth open. The Abhorsen gently suckled his lower lip, but then submitted. Her lips let him through, and she allowed his tongue to gently massage hers. And while they remained lip locked, her leg was painless, the air and water in the underground reservoir was not cold, and the Abhorsen was filled to the brim with bliss. Sabriel's arms gripped Touchtone tighter, but she didn't notice. Her senses were not there. Her eyes were shut tight, and she felt only with her mouth, which was useless for feeling while connected with another.

Eventually, the kiss became too much for them and it died down from a passionate make out to a series of small pecks. It was like a rush of frozen air when Sabriel was released entirely. Her arms dropped uselessly to her side and the pain began to return to her leg. Surprised, the Abhorsen let out a short yelp of pain.

"Easy," Touchstone murmured, reaching out a hand to steady her leg. His touch was warm and comforting, strong without inducing any pain. Sabriel released a sigh of relief and leaned once more on the Charter Stone.

Taking another look at the wound, Sabriel was able to identify exactly what to do for it. As she was about to conjure the Charter marks, she heard Touchstone call, and "I'll go fetch Sameth and Ellimere. There's much to talk about, and you need quiet.

Sabriel nodded weakly. "You do that."


End file.
